


You Caught The Stars in Your Fine Chest Hair

by RocketRabbits



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: M/M, Third Person POV, crossposted from ff.n, im very fond of it, third person present tense, this was crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:24:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketRabbits/pseuds/RocketRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two eccentric pompadours are better than one. (Crossposted from ff.n)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Caught The Stars in Your Fine Chest Hair

His heartbeat quickens in his chest, the fabric of his dashing pink overshirt feeling at once like a comfort and the dumbest thing he could have chosen to wear. Not that he had a choice, of course, because his closet was ten pairs of the same outfit and a singular set of pajamas, so unless he wanted to show up in his nightie, it would have been impossible for Aldus to choose something better to wear. But still, next to his dashing dinner guest, anything would have felt inappropriate.

Oh, and what a man this guest of his is! Even now Aldus has trouble believing he had found someone so utterly perfect in looks, if not quite up to par with his taste in personalities. Though he usually chased fruitlessly after that young professor with the little boy and small but scary wife, he had bumped into this fine gentleman who took speeding after one of the cars in Monte D'or. Aldus hadn't seen him coming, you see, and so had not had time to get out of the way before the barrel-chested man with the course, frothing chest hair had barreled straight into him, knocking his prized collection all over the dirty streets in the process.

"My apologies," the man offered, "but I must go! I am a man of the yard, and criminals will not wait for me to catch up!" With that he had sped away before the pompadour'd man could offer his signature adieu, leaving Aldus a little bit shaken, and a good deal wishing he had caught the stranger's name.

Good fortune found him in London where he was visiting with his dear brother Staschenscarfen. They had agreed to meet at a local café, but naturally, Staschenscarfen had written the directions out as a puzzle. "Nothing like a greeting to keep wits sharp, eh, dear brother?" He had grumbled, but his eyes betrayed his amusement as he sat down at a park bench to work through the words and trace his path. It was when he glanced up, having finished his test, that he saw him: The man from Monte D'or.

"Ah, fortune smiles! Away, Aldus, catch the stars as they fall into your hands, for surely the fates have orchestrated this meeting!" He had meant to say something like that to the barrel-chested man whom, he noticed, also sported a pompadour, though far less contained than Aldus' own, and miles more enticing. Yes, he had meant to be as suave and collected as he had ever been around Layton, but instead what came out was-

"I'm, I'm sorry, I'm having trouble forming my words- your unruly pompadour, not unlike cupid's arrows, has pierced trough my tender heart and I find I am without words. Without words, yes, but not without love."

The good- Aldus squinted at a tiny nameplate attached to his breast pocket- inspector stayed quiet for a moment before offering "Quite a lot of words there, eh?" and oh, oh, Aldus had gone and fucked up.

"Y-Yes," he stammers, and wishes desperately that Staschenscarfen's puzzle had taken him moments longer, "Yes, I suppose so. I shall take my leave now, Adi-"

"I am Insector Grosky of the Yard, and I believe you're the man I ran into in Monte D'or, that right?"

Aldus nodded silently, surprised that for the first time, somebody had interrupted his farewells. How could such an odd and enticing man get any better?

"Bit forward, eh? Don't even know your name and 'ere you are, pulling out such serious words. Who are you, then?"

"Aldus. Just Aldus."

"Well, Aldus, pleasure to know your name. And I do feel bad about whatever was in that briefcase. I could make it up to you with dinner, if that would mean anything."

Nothing had been broken but Aldus' pride, and the time already spent with this godsent beast of human protective services was more than enough to have repaid the debt, but Aldus didn't say that. "Yes," He offered instead, without his usual ham or grandeur. "I should think so."

Phone numbers were exchanged, and well wishes were offered, and if Aldus floated rather than glided to his delayed coffee with his only brother, then that was his business alone, though it didn't stop Staschenscarfen from snickering.

And that's how he managed a date with the Apollo before him. Date, perhaps, being too strong a word, but Aldus has never been known for subtlety in his desires. They manage about twenty minutes of talk in hushed tones, faces leaned close so the standard outsider cannot tell where one pompadour ends and the other begins, before a slight growling sound can be heard from a table over.

"I'm sorry about Hanna," Grosky says, like he means it, at the doors of Aldus' hotel. "I wasn't aware she followed me outside of work too."

The evening had been fun, despite their unplanned early departure from the restaurant and spending the rest of the evening hiding out in various London alleys. It had been an adventure. It had been good. "Worry not, dear friend, this was the most fun I've had in ages."

"Will I see you again?" Grosky asks after a moment, and Aldus decides that with all of the energy he had used to disapprove of his gruff way of speaking, he will use to bring it back. The softness and insecurity in Grosky's voice doesn't fit him, doesn't portray the fearless man he is.

"Undoubtedly, I assure you. This, too, must be written in the stars." His voice booms with all the confidence Grosky didn't have, making up for both of them. "But for now-

"Adieu."


End file.
